


Boys Don't Cry

by EmoWithALightSaber



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Bottom Armitage Hux, Drug Abuse, Drunk Sex, Emotional Constipation, I'm not sure if angst is the right word tbh, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Finn/Rey, Minor Poe Dameron/Finn, Nipple Piercings, None of this is healthy or safe, Rimming, Substance Abuse, Top Kylo Ren, and other piercings, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmoWithALightSaber/pseuds/EmoWithALightSaber
Summary: When Hux agrees with his publication to temporarily fill the music correspondent position, he's not expecting to have his stable life interrupted by Kylo Ren, an up-and-coming garage artist with a penchant for drinking too much and getting into financial trouble.But no amount of journalistic integrity is going to stand between him and Kylo's pretty lips, although Phasma and Mitaka might.Alternatively: Dumb punk boys fix each other with soft kisses and loud music.





	1. Shiver and Sing

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for Kylux and my first time writing a chaptered fic since like 2009, so we'll see how this goes.
> 
> Some tags may be added later.
> 
> find me on tumblr [@EmoWithALightSaber](http://emowithalightsaber.tumblr.com/)

When Hux had agreed to temporarily take over the music correspondent position for _The Flyer_ he thought it would be easy. He was convinced he would be going to daytime interviews at coffee shops and getting backroom tours of recording studios. And just like usual, he would be curled up in bed at a reasonable hour with his cat and a glass of wine. 

He _didn't_ think he would be heading out to a sleazy midtown rock club at nine on a work night trying to put together enough information so that he could deliver a decent article for work the next day.

The Hi-Tone was a small venue tucked between a couple of long-time local businesses just a few minutes from downtown. As he approached, tailing reluctantly behind Mitaka, he considered the fact that the whole strip seemed to have miraculously avoided gentrification, even with the massive and expensive apartment complexes that had been refurbished right down the street.

There was an honest to god second hand store – not one of those overpriced “vintage boutiques” that had become all the rage recently – and a strip club across the street. He supposed maybe the rich people who were willing to pay $2,000 a month for their one bedroom apartments in the new building felt the neighborhood was too scary to venture into. Hux thought that a farmer’s market and a yoga studio would probably turn that around.

He might have missed the entrance if Mitaka hadn’t been leading the way – although the crowd of vaguely threatening twenty-somethings that were milling on the sidewalk might have tipped him off.

When the door was opened a wave of smoky air filled Hux’s lungs. The bar was small, with only a handful of tables and a long couch along the front wall under a line of windows. The whole place was plastered with peeling posters of shows long passed. He wondered how long this shithole had been serving cheap beer to unemployed punks.

“This is Hux,” Mitaka told the door-guy as they walked in, “he’s with me.” 

The guy was arrestingly handsome, with dark curly hair and a warmth in his eyes that could only come from genuine kindness. Hux glanced momentarily at his nice jaw, before flickering to his leather jacket, the broad chest underneath.

“Where’s Phas?” he asked, not unkindly, as he gave them drink wristbands. They were bright green. 

“She’s not really feeling well. Hux is temporarily filling in for her.”

Hux gave a noncommittal shrug, holding his arm out for the guy to put the wristband on him.

“Oh, That’s to bad!” he waved them through, “Tell her I said ‘hi’ – y’all are in the small room tonight”

The small room, apparently, referred to a room behind the bar that was even smaller than the one that they had just come from. There were about twenty or so people squeezed onto couches, smoking and drinking their cheap cocktails while they waited for the band to set up. Hux didn’t recognize any of them, but Mitaka greeted a few with smiles and waves.

The band was on the stage, which was really nothing but a slightly raised platform. Half the room was crowded with various amps and instruments and the stage was so small that both the bass player and the lead singer were actually standing on the floor instead. They were going through sound check, which really meant they were just twiddling the nobs on their petals and speaking into the microphones to make sure they could be heard. Every once and a while one of them would play a riff or say something placating to the crowd.

Hux glanced around at the collection of outdated furniture and signs advertising for various working-class alcohols.

“So this is the designated hangout, then?” he asked Mitaka. Somehow Mitaka and his girlfriend Phasma didn’t seem the type to hang out in a dive bar-cum-punk venue. The place literally had a cigarette vending machine. It probably didn’t even work and they were just keeping around for nostalgia points.

“Yeah,” he said, seeming to take offence with Hux’s tone, “I mean, where else are we going to see local music in this town?”

Hux shrugged, “I don’t know. Minglewood? The New Daisy?” he could remember hearing about those places when he had been in high school, “They’re… nicer, aren’t they?”

He took a sip of his vodka tonic. It was in a plastic PBR cup.

“The Daisy’s a shithole that caters to metal-heads and tourists. And Minglewood doesn’t even let local artists preform except those dumb college bands that bring crowds.”

Hux drank some more. He hadn’t been out in a while. 

“Besides, we’re here to listen to _garage_.” 

When Hux didn’t answer Mitaka prompted, “You _like_ garage shit.”

“Listening to it, yeah. I haven’t been to a live show in years.”

His days in the local punk scene had come and gone quickly. It had been more of a way to piss off his father and to find people to buy him alcohol. He hadn’t even been 21 when he had gotten his nose broken by a skinhead in a piss-soaked bathroom. And after that it was an easy decision to stay the fuck away from the scene.

Mitaka, sensing Hux’s mood continued, “Look, they’re not all shitty; some of these guys are pretty decent.”

It wasn’t about whether or not these people were creeps; he just felt like he should be able to enjoy music without going out to shitty bars every weekend. He had a perfectly good speaker system at home and nicer alcohol and a cat. He’d take that over literally anywhere else.

“I think you’ll like them,” Mitaka eventually said, “They’re very Jay Reatard meets Black Lips. But grungier.” 

Hux hoped so. 

The band started with a buzz of screeching feedback and the dull, off-key drone of a guitar on a loop. The lead singer, a big guy wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut out to reveal large biceps, turned to look back at the rest of the band, rocking back and forth slowly and leaning heavily on the microphone stand. There was a moment where they all looked at each other before the guitar buzzed to life.

Repetitive, tight chords with muddy distortion created a wall of noise that gripped Hux from the moment it started. It has a messy, low-fi punk quality to it that probably didn’t translate very well in recordings, but sounded gorgeous live. The other instruments joined in within seconds and the singer, who had been rocking back and forth, gearing up to give a performance, leapt into motion.

He didn’t thrash like a trashy metal singer or hardcore artist might, but rather began to sway, his head jerking, his hands gripping the microphone stand, his whole body seemingly on the verge of toppling over without its support. He stood with his leg spread, head low and his body off balance, supported by the balls of his feet, as he bellowed the lyrics. What he was singing was completely inaudible over the other instruments by the nature of garage, but it went so well together.

He was glorious, Hux thought, completely taken. He was tall, built like he could suffocate Hux with his biceps (or his thighs), and he had scattered tattoos on his arms. The rocking was causing his shoulder-length black hair to sway, drape across his neck in that way that had Hux thinking of romance novels. He pushed it back from his face occasionally in moments of relative stillness when he took a breath, his eyes flickering and half closed.

He looked as though he was having a religious experience; an awakening, as though his words and movements were in communion with some otherworldly presence. Hux thought of a born-again pastor, his body alight with the ecstasy bestowed upon him by God – but this was man was certainly channeling the devil instead. He couldn’t remember seeing anyone act so utterly wraithlike in a live performance before.

Hux shivered.

He barely had time to look at the rest of the band, their sound taking the back seat to the show that was the lead singer’s movements. He was undergoing what could only be described as an exorcism; his body merely a medium for some ethereal entity as he arched his back, balancing precariously, his limbs outstretched, as though he might lose his footing entirely. But if he did, Hux thought, he would probably float instead of fall. 

The band’s first song crashed to a noisy end with a grind of feedback just as it had started and with scattered cheers and whoops from the small crowd. The lead singer seemed to return to himself, his body relaxing, dark eyes scanning around the room. 

“Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice surprisingly low and breathy, removing the microphone from the stand, “our friends Bluff City Vice and Hartle Road are playing after this,” there was another scattered cheer. He smiled, tired looking and oh, so beautiful.

The band dove back into another song, this one even more aggressive than the first.

Hux felt his breathing pick up. Mitaka, having spent the first song snapping pictures for Hux’s article, begun to bounce, his head banging to the music. Hux began to move as well, his body swaying gently, his head bobbing, as though the singer’s energy was contagious.

Everyone else in the crowd was similarly in motion, the music resonating around them. The singer moved forward into the crowd as though prowling. _Hunting_ , Hux thought, _reaping souls_. Letting out a particularly vicious, guttural sound, he threw his head back, his eyes rolling back in his head. His fingers, long and sharp-looking, clawed at his face and neck. Hux could see how the skin underneath went white under the pressure. 

He was possessed, Hux thought wildly, watching the way the hand that wasn’t holding the microphone curled around his bicep, then his neck once again, before flickering, curved and wicked looking against his mouth. His nails were painted black, his wrists delicate.

The music was loud, fast, the bass and drums delivering a consistent punk rhythm, the guitar rounding out the sound with a tight but energetic noise. The whole time, the singer spat and growled the lyrics, twisting his body with an intensity that had Hux’s muscles clenching in sympathy.

The set only lasted about twenty loud and fast minutes before the band was screeching out a final song and then packing up. 

“Aren’t they good!” Mitaka said, sounding out of breath. His face was red and he was grinning. Hux couldn’t remember ever seeing Mitaka this flushed and excited before.

Hux knew his face was red too, “I’m gonna have a smoke.” 

He exited the way he came in, past the bar and out through the front door into the cold air. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. There were a few other people milling around now that the set had finished. 

Hux lit a cigarette, taking deep inhales for a few minutes and watching the glowing tip. He felt energetic, excited in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He also felt the overwhelming need to calm himself. He needed to re-center, learn to exist again in the quiet solitude afforded to him by his Marlboro cigarette and the cold night air.

It really had been a long time since he had been to a show. He’d forgotten what it felt like to see a good performance. He loved music; had a collection of records to rival the one Phasma and Mitaka shared, and while he hadn’t been to a show since long before starting graduate school, he still kept up with the music he enjoyed. But there was something about this show, regardless of the dirty venue and the shitty drinks, that had stirred something in Hux.

Maybe it was arousal.

The band soon came out front as well, hauling their equipment out of the venue themselves to be packed into a truck that was parked just outside. Hux watched them for a while as they moved their gear. 

He could ask for an interview, he thought suddenly as the singer walked by, his thick thighs straining against too-tight pants. That hadn’t been part of his original plan, but the music was good, the band had put on an interesting live show, and he wanted to know more. Not just for the article, really, but also because he was genuinely interested. If it meant he got to speak to the lead singer for a few minutes, well, that didn’t hurt.

He watched the lead singer load an amp, watched the way his shoulders strained, the way his jacket rode up to expose the roundness of his ass. 

“I’m Hux, with the Flyer. Could I borrow one of you for a quick interview?” Hux asked when the singer walked back towards the door, “It won’t take long, I promise.”

The lead singer had a long nose and distinct lips with a couple of dark beauty marks on his brow and cheeks. Up close Hux could see that the he had a septum ring in and several piercings in his ears. Hux wondered momentarily what else of his was pierced. 

He gave Hux a once over, his dark eyes lighting on his hair, then glancing down to his boots. Their eyes met again. They were sad looking.

“Sure thing, Red.”

Hux felt himself flush deeply at the nickname. 

“It’s Hux.”

“Sure,” He repeated and turned back to the rest of the band, “Can you guys finish up without me? I’ll catch up later.”

When he wasn’t on stage, his shoulders were a bit slumped and he didn’t seem quite as hulking. His face was asymmetrical, which wasn’t off-putting, exactly, but his plump lips were slightly pinched, as though a frown was lurking behind them. He seemed far away, as though something was troubling him. Hux felt like the intimidating man he had observed earlier on the stage, throwing his body around as though he could leap into heaven at any moment, was completely gone. 

“Poe!” He called to the bartender when they had gone back inside. It was the same devastatingly handsome man who had greeted him when he came in earlier, “can we get a couple of beers? We’re gonna go do an interview in the Big Room. Put it on my tab.”

“And when exactly are you planning on paying your tab?” Poe asked, he looked serious, but he still took two beers from the fridge and plunked them down on the bar.

His nostrils flared, his gaze flickered to Hux before landing on the neutral territory of the bar. 

“Tomorrow?”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

He took the PBRs from the guy – Poe – and didn’t smile.

The singer led him through a set of double doors off to the side of the bar. Inside there was a much larger room with it’s own entrance from the outside and a big stage. There were also several rows of what looked to be movie theater chairs and a bar near the back. They headed to the bar, which seemed to be unmanned – though the glowing neon lights advertising for various drinks were lit – and sat down on stools. Hux wondered for a moment if the Hi-Tone was actually two venues that had been renovated, what with two bars and two stages.

“Sorry if I intruded on your plans tonight,” Hux said carefully, shrugging out of his coat. He was wearing a sedated t-shirt, but it pulled tight across his chest and showed off his small frame, if you were into that sort of thing. 

“Oh, no worries,” He said, also pulling off his oversized camo jacket, which was decorated with a collection of patches and pins, and sitting on one of the bar stools.

Once again his arms were reveled to Hux. He had a collection of tattoos, some large and dark with color, and others that were faded and seemed to have been done by hand. Hux could see another tattoo on his ribs where the cut arm holes gaped open, and he considered that there were likely more further down. Hux wondered again if his nipples were pierced. 

The singer cracked open the PBR and took several big gulps. Hux watched his throat move as he swallowed. He hoped the flush stayed off his cheeks.

Hux also opened his beer and took a sip. Disgusting and cheap, but Hux wasn’t exactly a beer connoisseur. He didn’t even like the expensive and fancy local-brews that his friends favored. 

He pulled a small notebook out of his coat pocket. When had he become one of those journalists, he wondered.

“So…your name is?”

He took another long drink of beer before turning back to Hux. He seemed to have lost some of that lingering sadness around his mouth, instead his lips were curved into a barely-there smirk, wet and shiny from the beer. His eyes were lidded and dark, seductive in a way that caused Hux to swallow nervously. The man he had seen on stage was back.

“I’m Kylo Ren.”

Hux made a note, “Kylo Ren of Knights of Ren. Does everyone in the band have a ‘Ren’ name? Is it like a Ramones thing?”

Kylo’s eyes seemed to flash, almost as though he thought Hux to be naive, “Sort of… we wanted to… kind of… take inspiration from _the Sith_.”

“Interesting,” Hux wrote that down, “Do you see yourself as continuing _the Sith_ ’s legacy as a punk musician with Goner Records?”

Kylo made a scoffing sound, “Man, I can only hope to live up to that kind of musicianship… I –” he looked sheepish for a moment, his fingers tracing the rim of the beer, “Anakin was my grandfather,” he said after a moment.

“You’re Darth Vader’s grandson? As in _the_ Darth Vader?”

Hux had not been expecting that. Anakin Skywalker was a local legend; a kid who had broken out in the 70s as one of the biggest up and coming musicians to ever come out of the scene. He had fronted a punk band called _the Sith_ , who had been groundbreaking at the time – somewhere between Lou Reed and the more violent, uncontrolled side of punk. Unfortunately, as a lot of these things go, he had died tragically in his twenties, leaving a short and prolific music career with his band behind. Word had it that Goner Records, a local record label that had launched several local punk and garage musician’s careers, had been founded just to sign him. Hux had both of The Sith’s full length albums on vinyl, along with Skywalker’s solo album and a collection of cassette tapes of their lives shows and demos. 

“Look,” Kylo leaned in, his voice low, as though he didn’t want anyone else to overhear even though they were in an empty bar, “I’d prefer you didn’t put that in your article. It’s a lot to live up to.”

He was close, close enough that Hux could smell the beer on his breath, see the way his lips were slightly chapped. 

Hux blinked, “I – Of course… Is – would it be alright if I put down _the Sith_ as one of your influences?” 

Kylo nodded leaning back, nodding, taking another drink of beer. God, he was lovely.

“Who else?” Hux prompted after a moment, “I know you worked with Ty Segall on your EP.”

“Yeah, Ty’s great,” his hands fidgeted with his beer can, “He’s a real Jay-Reatard-come-again, in my opinion,” He ran his hands through his hair. Hux noticed how nice and silky it looked, “And as for influences, ya’ know, Seventies punk and New Wave mostly. And garage stuff, the usual, I would say. We’re pretty tight knit at Goner; I’ll always be big fans of _The Oblivians_ and _Nobunny_ and everyone else associated with the label.”

He had a nice face, Hux decided as he studied his profile. Regardless of his oddly long nose and almost lopsided features, he was masculine, but elegant, delicate in a way that rested almost entirely on his pouty lips and long eyelashes. When Kylo turned towards him his eyes seemed to catch on Hux’s chest, where his shirt pulled tight. 

He hoped again his flush wasn’t too obvious.

“What about you?”

Hux started, “Sorry?”

Kylo’s lips quirked, his tongue darted out to wet them, “What kind of music do you like?”

“Oh,” he faltered, “I donno, all kinds. I collect a lot of New Wave albums, but I really like some stuff coming out of the punk scene right now.” 

“You like _The Cure_?”

Hux blinked, “I – yeah, I love _The Cure_. Why?”

“Nothing. You just seem like the type.”

He seemed to drop it at that, draining the last of his beer and popping the empty can down on the bar, pushing it away from him. Hux hadn’t touched his since he first opened it.

He cleared his throat after a moment of silence, “And you’ve been a band for how long?”

“Two years this January.”

“Do you remember your first show?”

He laughed, a nice deep, velvety sound, “Sorta, I was pretty hammered.”

“Tell me about it.”

Hux knew a lot of the band’s details were already available online. Phasma had written a relatively favorable review of their EP and subsequent album that had come out earlier that year, so there was some information he could count on already out there. But he wanted to write about the band’s performances and tours primarily. Their formative years, or what would become their formative years if they lasted long enough or got big enough. He also liked the sound of Kylo’s voice. Wanted to watch the way his mouth moved when he spoke.

While he was answering a question about the band’s recent East Coast tour – if you could call piling in a van and touring Atlanta, Charlotte, and New York an “East Coast tour” – Kylo hauled himself over the bar. 

He had glanced around for a moment before hand, then stretched his arms over the counter and swung his body around, landing clumsily on his feet on the other side.

“I – What are you doing?” Hux asked, also looking around quickly to be sure no one else was there, “You shouldn’t do that!” He whispered, going for casually disapproving, but verging more on agitated. He didn’t want to get kicked out; he had, like, seven more months of covering music, and his boss at might not take too kindly to him being banned from one of only three venues in town.

Kylo opened the refrigerator behind the bar and pulled out another PBR tallboy, “Don’t worry, I used to work here. If they get mad they know where to find me – You want one?”

Hux stared at him open mouthed for a moment, when Kylo prompted him with a raised eyebrow he sat up straight and shook his head.

He shrugged and made his way back over the bar.

“You’re no fun.”

“Excuse – what?” Hux sputtered, “I’m – I was just… You shouldn’t take things,” he finished, his face heating as he got flustered. 

“Sure thing, Red”

“It’s _Hux_ ,” he said, “and I asked you a question.” 

“Sure, sure,” he said, drinking deeply from the new beer, “the tour was great. No future plans other than recording and doing local shows.”

Hux didn’t have any more questions, really. And if Kylo continued to drink at this rate he might not get much more out of him anyway. He probably had more information than he needed, but Kylo was interesting, and irritatingly attractive.

On the one hand, he could leave, wash the cigarette smell out of his clothes, and curl up on his couch at home with Millicent and a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, which would be a major improvement over the cheap beer that they had been drinking.

On the other hand, if Kylo fucked as aggressively and wildly as he preformed, Hux might actually be worn out enough to get a good night’s sleep for once.

“Well,” Hux flipped his notebook shut and clicked his pen. He’d let Kylo make the move, if one was coming. It was always hard to tell for Hux, who flirted about as well as he socialized (which is to say, he didn’t), “I’d say that’s about all I have for now. Should have the article out this Wednesday.”

Kylo nodded and stood from the bar, downing the rest of the beer in several swallows, “Awesome, I look forward to reading it,” he shrugged his big jacket back on, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Hux stalled, scuffing his boot against the floor while Kylo lit up, “Going to catch up with your band?” he asked, trying to sound casual and probably failing.

“Maybe,” Kylo took a drag off of his cigarette, looked intently at Hux for a moment before blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Whatever you’re doing tonight.” 

“I –” Hux cut himself off. That was more straight forward than he had been expecting. He looked again at Kylo’s nice lips, the ring in his nose. Looked into his dark eyes for a moment, saw the intense heat there. 

Hux wondered if he was about to get burned.

“Mine or yours?”

Kylo tossed his cigarette away, “Yours, definitely.”

 

****

The drive had been quiet, the radio playing lowly while Kylo smoked out of the window, periodically gazing intently at Hux, which made him slightly nervous, and flipping through the CD’s Hux kept in a zippered case in the passenger seat. 

Hux lived relatively close to the Hi-Tone, in a cheap and slightly run-down neighborhood in East Midtown. His apartment was part of what used to be a good sized house that had been renovated into two separate apartments some time in the 90s. It wasn’t much, but it was affordable and allowed him privacy. Plus, his downstairs neighbors were quiet and sometimes offered to pick up groceries for him.

As soon as they were through the front door, Hux was being kissed. 

Kylo’s mouth was hot, soft, and he tasted like beer and cigarette smoke. He held Hux gently, with his big hands spanned across Hux’s lower back, before they slid to his hips, guiding him backwards.

Kylo manhandled him onto the couch, and Hux found himself going willingly. He felt those big gentle hands pressing him back on the pillows, the kiss still searing into his mouth.

Hux hadn’t been kissed like that before. Sure, he’d been kissed. But it had usually been by some quick fuck who was more concerned with getting Hux’s dick out of his pants than the feel of his mouth.

This kiss was nice; hot and slick, with just a hint of teeth and a lot of tongue. Kylo’s body was hot and hard against his, his hard chest pinning him onto the back of the couch from where he was kneeling on the floor.

He could feel himself growing hard in his trousers, wanted to get out of them, get Kylo naked as well. Wanted to see his body, trace the tattoos scattered across his flesh with his tongue.

Kylo pulled back after a few minutes, looked Hux over briefly, his dark eyes resting momentarily on what were sure to be swollen, kiss-reddened lips, and began deftly removing Hux’s boots and clothes. His mouth moved to Hux’s neck, sucking and biting what was sure to be an impressive bruise there while he divested Hux of his offending clothes.

When he had Hux fully nude, he began to pull off his own clothes, all the while keeping Hux’s mouth occupied with his greedy tongue.

Hux felt good, oddly relaxed and less self conscious and defensive than he had been expecting, instead feeling confident enough to put his hands on Kylo, feeling the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders shifted as he moved. 

He was even bigger up close, Hux thought as he noticed how Kylo’s body dwarfed his own.

When they were both fully undressed, Kylo leaned back, his hooded eyes taking in all of Hux’s flushed skin, his half hard cock, the goosebumps on his flesh. He let his legs fall open, exposing himself to Kylo’s heated gaze.

Hux looked too. Kylo was big, broad shoulders no longer constrained by that ratty black shirt he had been wearing. His toned chest and arms evident of the strength that Hux had felt underneath his hands.

He had several tattoos on his chest and ribs, across his muscular thighs as well. As expected, two barbells winked at Hux in the low light from Kylo’s nipples. 

“How many piercings do you have, exactly?” Hux asked, his fingers idly finding his own cock and lightly circling the head. He watched the way Kylo’s eyes tracked his movement, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips at the sight of Hux touching himself.

“Just these four and the ones in my ears.”

Hux counted, one in his nose, two and three glittering enticingly on Kylo’s pink nipples. 

“Four?”

Kylo’s dark eyes, looking up at Hux from under thick eyelashes, fluttered. His hand wrapped around the prettiest dick Hux had ever seen; thick, flushed a gorgeous red, uncut and long enough to have Hux preemptively shaking. And there, on the underside, right below the head; a silver ring. 

_Fuck._

Hux wanted his mouth on it. 

“Can I suck you off?”

Kylo’s lips quirked. He leaned in, his big hands pushing Hux’s thighs apart. He looked up, let his tongue dart out to lick his lips, as though for dramatic effect, “Me first.”

It had been a long time since anyone had put their mouth on Hux, and Kylo’s lips and tongue were wicked. He was enthusiastic, sloppy, and made noises that felt as amazing as they sounded. His big hands gripped Hux’s hips, stroked against the skin on his thighs as he swallowed Hux down.

When Hux was able to get his eyes open to meet Kylo’s, he thought he could see the man who had been on stage. Reverent, worshipful. Messy and full of life and completely devoted to Hux’s dick.

“Christ,” Hux breathed, let his fingers find Kylo’s hair and tug gently, the soft locks offering a lovely handhold. His other hand reached for that soft mouth, where it was fluttering wetly at the head of Hux’s dick. His lips parted wider, allowed the fingers that were teasing against them to slip inside, feel the hard teeth, that hot-wet tongue against Hux’s cock.

Kylo pulled off wetly, replaced his mouth with one of his big hands, which started long and leisurely strokes while Hux’s fingers explored his mouth. Hux let his fingers slide deeper, gliding against the silky texture of Kylo’s tongue, felt the way teeth bit down gently on his knuckles, tongue sliding between them. 

His eyes were closed, those sinful eyelashes fluttering delicately, attuned to Hux’s touch as though he was receiving sacrament.

Hux removed his fingers and smeared Kylo’s saliva against his cheek as he gripped his hair, pulled him up to taste that pretty mouth again. It was slack as he received Hux’s tongue with a breathy moan, his fingers tightening against Hux’s thigh.

“Lube?” Kylo asked, his hand still working Hux’s dick slowly, his mouth just barely brushing it as he spoke, smearing pre-cum and saliva against his lips.

Hux shivered, “Bedroom,” he answered, taking Kylo’s hand and guiding him there.

Millicent was curled up on his pillow but immediately evacuated the room, complaining loudly when Kylo pushed him down onto the bed.

Kylo was kissing him again, biting at his lips. Hux was breathless from it, the slickness, that determined tongue.

Hux felt Kylo’s dick against the crease of his thigh, and he reached down to touch it. It was hot and already slick. His fingers curled around the underside, searching for the jewelry he knew was there.

Kylo gasped when his fingers made contact, his hips jerking as Hux thumbed the piercing. Hux had almost expected it to be cold, but it was just as hot as the surrounding skin. He fingered the bead on it, thinking about how good it was going to feel inside of him.

“Fuck me?” Hux whispered, letting his lips graze over the piercings in Kylo’s ear. There were five of them.

Kylo pulled back, his eyes meeting Hux’s in the low light of the room, “I can’t wear a condom.” 

“What?” 

“It might rip,” he whispered, “I thought you were gonna fuck me.”

Hux swallowed. 

This is a _mistake_ , he told himself.

But it was a mistake he was going to enjoy making.

“Then don’t wear one.”

Kylo searched his face, looked at his lips, and back to his eyes. Hux flicked the bead again, felt the wetness under his fingers, captured Kylo’s lips and kissed him deeply, “I trust you,” he breathed into Kylo’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Kylo relinquished, biting hard at Hux’s lips once before sitting back on his heels. His hands pulled Hux’s thighs apart, bent his knees, exposing him to the cool air and Kylo’s heated gaze. One of his big hands dragged up Hux’s leg, brushed by his leaking cock before pushing up behind his balls, tapping lightly at the tight furl there. It clenched involuntarily in answer.

Hux grabbed for the bottle of lube that he kept in the bedside drawer and pressed it into Kylo’s hands. 

Kylo slicked his fingers liberally, and Hux noticed again how elegant they were. Kylo leaned back down to kiss him deeply. It was wet and breathy and once again that slick tongue made itself known. _God_ , what part of himself had this man sacrificed to be able to make Hux tremble like this?

Then those fingers were pressing in. Hux felt himself clench up, felt Kylo’s lips on his cheek, felt his hot breath as he said, “Relax, babe,” before moving down to take Hux’s cock back in his mouth.

Hux moaned, thought desperately for a moment that he better last long enough to come while Kylo was fucking him and not before he even got a finger in his ass.

It took an absurd amount of time just for him to be able to take three fingers, but Kylo was annoyingly patient. He didn’t seem to feel the need to speed up regardless of how desperately Hux pulled on his hair or whispered _please_.

By the time Kylo pulled off, making a sinful noise as though Hux was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, his thighs were trembling and the knuckles on Hux’s hand had gone white.

“You’re so sensitive.”

“Christ,” Hux said, feeling on the verge of tears. He desperately wanted to come, but he also wanted to know what that piercing felt like more than anything, “Just do it, _please_.”

“Why are you so impatient? Got somewhere to be?” Kylo was still mouthing at Hux’s dick, his fingers slipping out to tease around the rim, gently nudge against the sensitive skin behind his balls. He really was going to cry soon. 

He didn’t answer, just breathed deeply, tried to keep himself from bearing down on those fingers. 

“Turn over,” Kylo said, pulling back and already pushing Hux onto his stomach. He was _strong_.

He heard the _snick_ of the lube cap again, the wet sound of Kylo fisting himself. 

He felt one of those big hands on him again, guiding him up onto his knees, pulling his hips back to sit flush with Kylo’s.

“It’s gonna be a stretch,” Kylo said quietly.

The blunt head dragged over his hole a few times, that infuriating little bead catching with each pass. He could hear Kylo’s breathing, his fingers teasing against the back of Hux’s thighs.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hux answered, his voice coming out a lot more breathlessly than he intended, then moaned when Kylo pushed in, “Oh, God.”

“I told you,” he said, pulling Hux back.

The sound he made when the bead slid past his rim was completely undignified, and it elicited a breathy laugh from Kylo.

He had been right about the stretch. His legs trembled, Kylo steadied him, sank into him the rest of the way. Hux bit his lip hard; he wanted to scream. Kylo felt deliciously large, thick, the friction of it had him on edge immediately. 

He started up a rhythm and Hux let himself moan, listening to the sounds Kylo was making behind him; little breathy grunts with every thrust. 

The angle wasn’t perfect; too shallow to do more than tease. 

As though sensing the problem, Kylo’s big hands were suddenly pulling him up and back, settling him further onto the cock behind him. The next thrust was dead on.

“Fuck!”

“That’s it, babe,” one of those big hands found his dick, squeezed roughly. Hux groaned, his head thrown back onto Kylo’s muscular shoulder, “You just needed a firm hand, didn’t you?”

Hux couldn’t answer, and he felt teeth and warm suction at his throat. Oh, Jesus, he was going to come. 

Kylo began a tight and fast rhythm over Hux’s dick, his hand slick with lube and spit, fingers maddeningly rough.

That, along with the beautiful drag of that piercing against Hux’s prostate, had Hux keening.

“Oh, you’re a loud one, aren’t you?” Kylo asked, his voice breathy and hot against Hux’s ear.

He wanted to throw back a rebuttal, but he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, between the hand on his dick and that lovely, thick cock in his ass.

“Keep –” Hux couldn’t form words.

The hand that wasn’t abusing his cock was gripping his hip hard enough to leave bruises, rocking Hux onto his dick. He hoped the marks would be there in the morning.

“Fuck, I’m – ” Hux choked, his breath coming faster, “Kylo – ”

“That’s right, c’mon, Red.” Kylo whispered.

That did it. That fucking nickname.

He was coming, his eyes squeezing shut and his head thrown back as he was stroked through it. He wanted to scream, holler as loud as possible, but no noise came out, instead he just clawed desperately at Kylo’s thighs for support and allowed himself to be held.

Kylo didn’t miss a beat; and as soon as the breath rushed out of him, his body going boneless against that strong chest, he was pushed down into a puddle of his own come. He pushed back into Hux before he even had a moment to rest. Hux felt his spent cock spurt out another dribbled at being manhandled yet again. 

He started up a punishing pace, his hand pressing Hux’s shoulders down into the bed, his hips up and back. he still felt stretched to the breaking point on that beautiful cock, the piercing still dragging just right inside of him.

“Come in me.”

Kylo slowed, leaning down, didn’t stop though, “What?”

Hux turned his head, pushed some hair out of his eyes, “Come in me,” he repeated louder this time.

“Jesus,” he heard Kylo say, his breath going erratic, thrusts short. Hux wished he could see Kylo’s face, wondered if it looked anything like it had on stage. He wondered if Kylo’s eyes rolled back in his head, if his pretty lips parted. Hux wondered if fucking him came close to the reverence Kylo showed while performing.

He’d have to fuck him again and find out.

Hux closed his eyes, felt Kylo’s hands tighten against his hips, heard his breath hitch and felt one final, desperate thrust, before Kylo came, collapsing against Hux’s back.

He didn’t want to move. Would have been happy to die there under that heavy, hard body, feeling the hot breath on the back of his neck, the come slipping out of his ass.

He breathed deeply for a moment, felt their breathing slow together, felt his heartbeat return to normal.

He also wanted to kiss Kylo again, find out of his mouth had gone sloppy and sweet.

Eventually, long enough that he figured Kylo might have dozed off, he felt Kylo sit up, resting a hand on his back.

“Don’t move,” he said, getting up off the bed, “Where’s the bathroom?” 

“Across the hall.”

Kylo disappeared out the door. Hux rolled onto his back, the shift causing more come to leak out of his ass. It was on his stomach and thighs as well. He should probably get up and take a shower, change the sheets. He just didn’t want to move. 

Millie, vocalizing loudly, came back into the room and jumped onto the bed, settling in next to Hux’s head. He stroked her idly, trying to make up for disturbing her earlier.

Kylo came back with a washcloth. He gently wiped the drying come off of Hux’s stomach, then pushed his thighs apart and cleaned up the mess he had made.

Hux’s ass felt empty, stretched and raw. His lips felt swollen from the kisses and he could see purpling marks on his hips.

Kylo had similar bruises on his arms and thighs. His hair was a mess, having been thoroughly disheveled by Hux’s fingers. His eyes were lidded, tired but alert, searching Hux’s for something. 

Hux couldn’t remember ever being with anyone this considerate before. Certainly no one so beautiful.

The washcloth made a disgusting wet sound when it hit the floor as Kylo crawled back onto the bed, reclaiming Hux’s lips in a lazy kiss. It was messy, deep and slow. Hux felt his whole body relax, let Kylo kiss him, let him touch his neck and shoulders, his face. 

He fell asleep not long after, Kylo curled around him, his breath warm and soft on the back of his neck, their hands tangled together.


	2. But I'm Not in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work, a conversation with friends, an existential crisis?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took so long to post; I'm really busy with school, but I'm still having a lot of fun writing. I have chapter 3 in rough draft stage and the rest of the story in an outline, so while we might be moving a bit slow, it will come eventually.
> 
> Here's some Spotify character playlists for your pleasure:
> 
> [Hux's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/s1fmm235vqeq7hg3dmofhqrsi/playlist/3nqOLtPfTmY8rs9jEFAlBx)
> 
> [Kylo's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/s1fmm235vqeq7hg3dmofhqrsi/playlist/1HANMK7SiILdySb8vnlobj)

Hux overslept the next morning.

He hadn’t set an alarm so he woke up at eight, which was two hours later than usual.

He felt groggy, tired all the way down to his bones, as though he had barely slept – which wasn’t at all the case, as they hadn’t actually gone to bed _that_ late. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying and failing to free them from the nighttime funk. He wondered momentarily if he would get fired if he didn’t show up, wanted to instead roll over and fall back asleep for at least three more hours.

The sun was making a valiant attempt at shining through his curtains, Millicent was sleeping gently in the crook of his arm, and Kylo was still there.

Hux could feel the measured breathing against his shoulder, see the way his eyes flickered under the lids as though he was dreaming, and luxuriated in the warmth that an extra body provided under the covers.

 _I could get used to this_ , he thought, studying Kylo’s face. Gone was the seriousness, the cutting gaze, the irritated mouth and the pinched brows. In it’s place was peacefulness.

Hux didn’t know what to do. It had been a long time since he had a partner stay the night (or had one at all, for that matter). He couldn’t kick him out, could he?

He probably could, but he also kind of _liked_ Kylo, and might want to see him again in the future. Waking him up and throwing him out didn’t seem like the best way to get a second – or first, in this case – date.

He lay their longer than was proper, the minutes ticking by until acceptably late was verging on _insubordinately_ late.

While it usually wouldn’t be a big deal if didn’t show exactly at nine, the article about _Knights of Ren_ was due at four in order to print for tomorrow’s paper distribution, and he hadn’t even started on it yet. It was unusual for him to cut the news cycle this close; he preferred instead to have his articles finished and submitted well before the due date.

Eventually he extracted himself from the warmth of his bed. Thankfully, Millie settled into the warm spot left behind making a fuss, so Kylo didn’t stir. 

He snuck around his room, pulling clothes out of his laundry hamper and trying not to wake Kylo or the cat. They looked lovely together, asleep in his bed. 

Some part of him wished Kylo would be there when he returned, still under the covers, with Millicent.

He wrote instructions for locking the door on a sticky note. He debated with himself for a good minute over whether or not to say something like, “I had a nice time,” or, “see you again soon.”

He drew a smiley face instead and left the note by the bed.

He left the house without coffee, without a shower, and without matching socks.

The office was downtown - about a fifteen-minute drive with good traffic, but longer during rush hour – located on the second floor of a historic building on Second Street. _The Flyer_ was a small twice monthly paper that was tailored mostly to twenty-something hipster types and young families that lived in midtown bungalows and rode bikes to work. Their readership wasn’t as extensive as the regional paper that was printed every day, but it offered Hux a (usually) flexible schedule and a decent salary to supplement his grad student stipend.

He reminded himself that the extra cash was all that was keeping him living comfortably without a roommate when he skirted past his editor’s office 45 minutes late. 

She glared at him in only the way a dissatisfied boss is able to, but he booked it straight to his desk to avoid a conversation with her, hoped he looked like someone who had hurried here instead of someone who had lazed about in bed for 15 minutes too long with last-night’s hookup.

Before he could even take his coat off, Phasma and Mitaka appeared by his desk, Mitaka with a cup off steaming coffee that he handed to Hux, and Phasma in a rolling chair, holding a large bowl of oatmeal. The oatmeal was for her, unfortunately, and his stomach growled when he realized this. 

“What the hell happened, Hux?” Mitaka started, his voice low, “I called you, like, four times.”

Hux flushed. He had forgotten about Mitaka last night, probably because Kylo had put one of those big hands on the small of his back while they left the bar, and his entire conscious mind had zeroed in on that gesture.

Fortunately, they had brought different cars, so Hux didn’t feel too bad. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket and felt for his phone. It was dead.

Phasma was looking at him with that quiet not-smirk she pulled off so well, her lips seeming to show no trace of emotion, but her eyes gleaming. It was as though she knew a secret and it gave her the upper hand.

“You didn’t shower this morning, did you?” she finally said after Mitaka had sufficiently scolded him.

“No, why? Do I smell that bad?”

“No - but you look a little… _disheveled_ ,” she said the word as though it was supposed to imply something more.

“Holy shit,” Mitaka said, his voice going to a whisper, his eyes flitting to Hux’s fluffy unstyled hair, down to the slightly wrinkled shirt he had pulled out of the hamper this morning, “Did you get laid?”

Hux sat down in his chair, pulling his keyboard towards him and booting up his computer, “I have an article to write,” which was true, and the sooner he got it to his editor the more likely she would actually remember that he was a competent writer and generally okay employee, “please leave.”

They left his desk reluctantly, Phasma scooting away from him in her rolling chair, her eyes not leaving him until she had pulled up to her own desk again.

He worked on the article for a few hours, writing a bit about the _Knights of Ren_ ’s sound and about their upcoming work. He listened to their album on Spotify while he wrote, trying to pick out themes and come up with a couple sentences to pin down exactly where they fit into the music scene. The studio recordings didn’t sound as good as the live performance had, the aggression and messiness gone and replaced by more controlled and less energetic sound, but they were still decent for low-fi garage rock. 

The album art was a polaroid of some busted knuckles with a swirling background pattern of thick red and black lines; not ground breaking, but pretty on-genre.

He wondered, off-handedly, if it had been chosen by Kylo. Maybe the hand in the photograph was his.

He took a long drink of coffee, wondered if Kylo figured out how to use his pour-over rig, or if he was still in Hux’s bed, sleeping. 

Hux wasn’t prone to fantasizing at work; he liked to keep it professional. But when he had the brief thought of lazy limbs and bed sheets, he let his eyes drift shut for a moment. He thought about Kylo waking up, rolling over, and rutting against his pillows. 

He felt his thighs clench involuntarily under the table, felt the soreness from where he had been fucked open the night before. 

It would be completely indecent to get up right now and stroke himself off in the bathroom. And he would _never_. But he did adjust himself in his pants, breathed deeply, allowed himself a moment to think about the way Kylo might look in the soft sunlight coming through Hux’s window right about now. 

Only a moment.

Once he had finished the article and sent it off for editing, he started updating the excel spreadsheet of upcoming shows that Phasma had shared with him. There was a calendar included with each issue of _The Flyer_ that covered two weeks’ worth of shows; yet another responsibility that had fallen to him now that he and Phasma had switched positions.

There was going to be a big artist coming to Minglewood this weekend, he noted with disdain, and he would have to go to the show in order to write a review. He scanned the pre-show article that Phasma had already written, looking for information on the band. He started to write an outline, pulling information from her article and coming up with clever tidbits that he might be able to use later.

It was about that time that Mitaka stopped by his desk again. He had Hux’s coat in his arms and held it out for him.

“We’re taking you to lunch,” he said, leaving little room for argument. For such a small and timid person, he could be quite convincing sometimes. Along with Phasma, the two of them made an unstoppable team. 

“On us,” he prompted when Hux didn’t move, pressing the coat to him.

Hux sighed, put his computer to sleep, and took the coat. 

They walked the couple blocks to Main street and ended up at an airy restaurant meant to resemble a seaside fish market even though they were over 300 miles from the ocean. It seemed like something from a trashy beach TV show. Hux got a chicken salad.

To Phasma and Mitaka’s credit, they didn’t bring up his late night right away, although he knew they were dying to, if the way Mitaka kept glancing Phasma’s way was any indication. Instead Phasma offered to read his article. Hux knew somehow that he wasn’t allowed to refuse.

They read the article silently on his phone while he ate. 

“You slept with Kylo Ren?”

Hux choked. Mitaka put his cup down a bit too hard.

When he didn’t respond, she read from the article, _“Kylo Ren, the frontman and lead singer, exudes an otherworldly presence during performances. He uses his body, not just his voice, as an extension of the band’s low-fi garage sound, undulating on stage and clawing at his skin as though having a religious experience_ \- Jesus Hux, this article _stinks_ of the weird freaky sex you had.”

He shrugged, having recovered his composure while she read his article out loud, “It wasn’t freaky,” he said, trying and failing to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

“Oh, _I’m sorry_ ,” she put his phone down on the table, fixing Hux with a piercing look - she could easily kill a man with her tone alone, “but you’re refusing to talk, so I’ll assume whatever I want.”

He sighed, pushed his plate back, and took a long drink of water, stalling.

On the one hand, Hux _did_ want to gossip. He felt like a teenager who had a dirty secret just ripe enough to cause a scandal. It was the first time he had so much as successfully flirted with someone in several years, and it had been all he could focus on all morning, his article coming slower than usual because he kept thinking about Kylo’s mouth and thighs and that _piercing_.

On the other hand, he wanted to tell them both to fuck off and mind their own business.

“I asked him for an interview and then he came home with me,” Hux said simply, taking the middle road. He stabbed stubbornly at a piece of chicken, refusing to meet their eyes.

“Well,” Mitaka said when it was obvious they weren’t going to get anything more out of him without some prompting, “If the state of your neck is anything to go by, that’s an understatement.”

Hux’s hand shot up to his neck, “Oh no.”

“You didn’t even look in the mirror before you left the house, did you?” Phasma asked as he inspected the bruises in the reflection of his phone. They weren’t actually that bad, thank God. They were just a couple of faint bruises that could probably be covered easily with some makeup.

He wondered if Phasma had concealer with her. He was too embarrassed to ask.

He put the phone down, “I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Oh God,” Phasma lost her composure for a moment, her face cracking into a delighted smile, “did you fuck this morning also? Is that why you were late?”

“No! Jesus, I left before he woke up, I just forgot to set an alarm.”

“You?” she said, her eyebrows raised, “forgetting to set an alarm? This boy must have been better than you’re letting on.”

Hux could feel his cheeks heating, betraying him so quickly in his time of need. His hand strayed to his neck, but he quickly put it down and continued eating his chicken salad.

He wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or if he was just unused to the scrutiny. His sex life was almost never the topic of discussion, mostly because he didn’t have one, but also because he he wasn’t sure how to talk about it anyway.

Mitaka and Phasma were quiet – seemingly coming to a silent agreement not to needle him any further – but Hux saw their hands find each other’s on the table, Phasma’s long, neatly manicured fingers tangling with Mitaka’s small, broad ones.

“So,” Hux said in an attempt to take the attention off of him, gesturing between them, “Speaking of relationships; how’s this going?”

The two had been dating for a little under a year, had moved in with each other last month, and were now pregnant, which was why Hux had been suddenly saddled with the Music position, forfeiting his foodie position to Phasma. She really shouldn’t be breathing in the smoke at venues, which was absolutely true, but it still annoyed Hux that he was the one who had to brave nasty, smoke-filled, piss soaked venues in her stead.

Phasma’s hand fell to her stomach, “Good,” she said, her gaze going soft, “I’m going in for my first checkup on Thursday.”

She wasn’t showing yet, which Hux knew because she tended to wear elegant body-con dresses that showed off the powerful and beautiful physique she worked hard to maintain. He could imagine what she would look like at nine months, her belly swollen, still wearing pristine high heels and dresses that made her look like an executive and not just a part time journalist at a crappy local newspaper.

“God,” Mitaka said, a bit quietly, “When did this happen? We’re like, real adults now.”

Hux wasn’t sure that was the case. It felt to him as though they were all in limbo, somewhere on the tipping point of adulthood. Last semester he had begun teaching an undergraduate general education literature class for freshman. Having to deal with students who came in 15 minutes late to an hour long lecture, clearly hung over on a Wednesday morning, made him feel ancient in comparison. But he was still having his own writing scrutinized, was still waiting for his GRE results and trying to figure out if a PhD program was right for him. Where had his college days gone? When was his life going to start? Was he a real adult now that he had stopped drinking beer out of fear of getting a gut and waking up with puffy under-eyes?

“Not yet,” Hux smiled, hoping his thoughts weren’t betrayed by it, “We’re all still at our dead-end journalism jobs.”

They glanced at each other, then back to Hux.

“Actually,” Mitaka said quietly, meeting Hux’s eyes reluctantly, “we’ve been doing some planning, and we don’t think we’re going to be keeping our jobs with _The Flyer_.”

_Oh._

“I’m going back to school to get my Master’s next semester,” Phasma told him, her hand creeping across the table to hold his, “And Minglewood is offering good money for Mitaka to take over the head-videographer position, and it’s a lot more consistent than taking photos for _The Flyer_.”

Hux felt like he had been slapped. He knew Phasma and Mitaka had grown close, obviously, since they were practically engaged and living together, but he didn’t realize how much he had become a third-wheel. 

He had introduced the two of them a year ago, gotten Phasma her job at the Flyer when she finished undergrad, and had practically planned their first date. They had been an inseparable trio for a long time, spending almost every day at each other’s apartments so that they could bitch about work and marathon movies together.

But now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t remember the last time that they had gone out to lunch together or had a movie night, or even called each other on the phone. 

Hux swallowed, put on a teasing smile that he hoped was convincing, “Already thinking about how much you’ve got to sink into that 5-2-9 account?” 

Phasma’s hand left his, pressing into her belly instead, her eyes excited once again, “Obviously,” she looked at Mitaka, the conversation going serious, “and she’s got to go to private school – you can’t argue with me about that one.”

They didn’t know the gender of the baby yet, but Hux thought it was endearing that she always referred to it as a girl. Mitaka’s eyes had gone soft.

They kept talking about their plans. There was a brief discussion of getting a house – a real one, with a yard for their child to play in, maybe somewhere close to a park.

Hux’s throat was tight. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t want to return to his apartment, remembered how quiet and still it was with only himself and Millicent. It no longer seemed like a safe haven, instead reminding him of a tomb. _His tomb._

 _I’m lonely_ , he thought suddenly, losing his focus on the conversation. His friends were getting married, moving onto bigger and better jobs, preparing to welcome a child into the world. And Hux was still teaching Walt Whitman to students who despised him, writing boring articles that he barely cared about, and drinking alone every evening.

He didn’t even have a boyfriend. 

Seeming to sense that they had lost Hux’s attention, Phasma changed the subject, “Do you want to come with me to the Grilled Cheese festival?”

“I thought _I_ was going with you?” Mitaka snatched his hand away from hers.

“You’re welcome to come,” she teased, “Tickets are 35 dollars.”

“I’m your _photographer_.”

One day the previous week, Hux had voiced his displeasure at being replaced as the foodie by having a very loud and very public argument with his editor. The subject of the argument had been that all of the free tickets (for Grilled Cheese Fest, BBQ Fest, the spring wine tasting, and all other food-related events) were being given to Phasma instead of Hux. Now that he didn’t have to write the articles the press passes were being taken away from him, which made sense, but had enraged Hux, who had planned several months around those events. His editor hadn’t budged on the issue at all, and hinted to Hux that there were other writers more willing to take over the music position if he continued to be difficult. 

Hux recognized this invitation as a peace offering.

“I’d also like one of the wine tasting press passes.” He said carefully, a smile tugging at his lips.

She looked at him like a teacher might look at a student who was being unruly, but there was a smile in her eyes.

“Deal.”

Mitaka made a sound of betrayal.

. . . . . .

His editor, thankfully not mentioning his lateness or his disheveled appearance, gave him the thumbs up on the article after lunch, so he wrapped up his workday early and headed home.

When he pulled into his driveway his downstairs neighbors were milling on the front porch, as usual. They were smoking weed, wrapped in blankets on an old wicker couch that they had found on the curb.

Hux waved at them, trying to skirt around the outside of the house to the exposed metal staircase that led up to his apartment without getting engaged in conversation.

“Armie!” One of them – Unamo – called. He felt his jaw clench at the nickname, which they insisted on using even though they knew he didn’t like it.

“What’s up?” he asked, trying to sound casual, hoping they hadn’t heard him getting the best dick of his life the night before. 

Thanison took a hit off the bowl and blew a big lungful of smoke towards Hux. 

They were a weird pair, Hux thought as Unamo got up, adjusted the blanket around their shoulders and came up to the side of the porch, leaning against one of the pillars. Both of them were ex-military, which made Hux nervous because of the association with his father, but they acted like the rest of the weird twenty-somethings that lived on the block.

Unamo crossed their arms, giving him a strange smile. He didn’t think he liked that look.

“We met your boyfriend this morning.”

Hux felt himself go red, “He’s – Kylo’s not my boyfriend.”

“You better tell him that,” Thanison and Unamo shared a look. Hux thought they were laughing at him.

Oh no, “What did he say?”

“Not much,” Thanison tapped the bowl against the edge of the table, knocking the ash out and beginning to repack it, “but he did take out your trash before he left.” 

Hux didn’t know what to say to that. It was a bit weird, he guessed, but that didn’t automatically raise him to boyfriend status.

“Nice of him,” he managed after a moment, his fingers fiddling with one of the buttons on his coat. He hoped they hadn’t actually spoken to him at all. He felt like that might break the nice little bubble that he had created.

They offered him the first hit of the fresh bowl, but he declined, waving politely to them and promising he’d pick up some of the roast that they liked from the coffee house by the university.

When he unlocked the door, Millicent was waiting for him on the entrance rug, purring happily, and rubbing up against him while he locked the door. That was odd; usually she was yowling to be fed the moment he came home from work. 

He scratched her behind the ears, putting his stuff down on the sofa, noticing that there was a stack of neatly folded clothes on one of the arms. 

_His clothes_ , he realized, touching them lightly. The ones he had been unceremoniously divested of the night before, right before Kylo had given him head. Hux’s dick gave an interested twitch at the memory.

He considered, while he fingered at the sleeve of the soft t-shirt, that he could put his hands down his pants right there in the living room. There was no one to stop him, and he’d been thinking about Kylo all day. 

He took a deep breath, reminded himself that he was an adult – sort of – and not a teenager whose parents were out for the evening.

He crossed to the kitchen, where he found Millicent’s food and water bowls mostly full. Usually she would have eaten everything he had given her in the morning and would now be loudly demanding a second portion. Kylo must have filled it. 

Remembering what Thanison had said about the trash, he opened the pantry door. The trashcan inside, which had been full yesterday and ready to be taken out, had been emptied, and there was a fresh liner, neatly tucked around the lip.

He shut the door and looked down at Millie, who was still by his feet, vocalizing happily, sniffing at the cuffs of his pants.

“I take it you like him,” Hux said to her. 

She trilled happily. He reached down to pick her up, pressed his face into her fur. 

He should get drunk, he thought happily, remembering that he didn’t need to be at the university to teach until three, and that he had finished and submitted his most recent thesis outline over the weekend. There was nothing at all that he needed to do.

He could even indulge in some wine and a movie.

After taking a shower and starting a load of laundry that included everything in the house that might have come in contact with bodily fluids, he picked Millicent up, cradled her gently against his shoulder, and went to pour himself a glass of wine.

He opened the refrigerator, his hand blindly reaching for the sauvignon blanc and coming up empty. He paused, Millicent’s tail twitching against his chest, and looked at the empty space where his wine should have been.

He’d only just bought the bottle two days ago, which he remembered because he had splurged for the sixteen dollar one instead of his usual cheap one. There was no way he had already finished it. He hadn’t even _opened_ it, for Christ’s sake.

 _Kylo_ , he realized, his mood turning sour instantly. There was no other explanation. 

He crouched, checking the rest of the refrigerator in case he had placed it somewhere else. It wasn’t there. 

Slamming the refrigerator door, causing the jars and bottles to clink alarmingly and Millicent to startle and launch herself out of his arms, he cursed.

“Of course,” he fumed, the good mood he had been enjoying now nowhere to be found. It had been too good to be true, he supposed, but that didn’t make him feel any better. 

It was his own fault for bringing home some useless punk from a shitty band and thinking there was going to be some big _love_ connection from it. He probably had a drinking problem on top of God knows what other issues. Hux could have kicked himself.

He yanked open the freezer door – he could eat, at least – but his frozen meals were gone, too. Where he knew several Chicken Tiki Masalas and at least one Pesto Pasta had been the day before, there was nothing. A half empty tub of ice cream and a bag of frozen vegetables, but no Chicken Tiki Masala. The half empty bottle of vodka that had been there for several months wasn’t there either.

_What the fuck._

He slammed the freezer door as well, paying no mind to Millicent, who had been lurking in the door way and startled again at the noise, scampering across the hardwood floor and into the safety of his bedroom.

He stalked through the house, furious, looking for anything else that might be out of place. His DVDs and TV seemed in order, and his albums looked like they might have been gone through, but upon inspection his most expensive ones, a first print of _Diamond Dogs_ and his rare _Nirvana_ pressings, were still there.

Why would anyone steal _wine_? He wondered, feeling his jaw become sore because of how much he was clenching it. He stood in his kitchen, looking around, wanting to throw something, wanting to hit something. If he ever saw Kylo again, with his big stupid lips and his broad shoulders – _and his perfect cock_ , his brain unhelpfully supplied – he’d deck him.

He took a deep breath, pulled his coat back on, and went back outside. Maybe the offer to smoke was still on the table. If not, he’d go march himself down to the liquor store and get another bottle of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title from [I'm Not in Love by Talking Heads](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms94bEkYm4o)
> 
> [Come find me on Tumblr!](http://emowithalightsaber.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from the song Boys Don't Cry by The Cure  
> Chapter title from the song Gimme Danger by The Stooges


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